Even The Pompous Have Their Moments
by Fififjonka
Summary: Hawkeye is sick and B.J. is away again. Eventually he gets help from the least likely person in the camp. One shot. Read&Review, please!


"That was a fine job you did on that fellow in the morning, Pierce…"

Hawkeye looked up from his lunch, giving Charles a smirk and watching him sitting down opposite to him.

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you, the master of flattery."

"Well, it would be an _excellent_ job being it my patient but then again – you exceeded the expectations," Charles added and Hawkeye nodded slowly.

"Now this makes more sense," he said. "Am I imagining things or you look _happy_? Should I be afraid?"

Charles' smile broadened as he was shifting the disgusting beans over his plate.

"Not that it would be any of your business but it so happens there is finally a civilized and fruitful evening ahead of me today."

Hawkeye stared at him.

"You mean a make-out?"

Charles frowned immediately.

"How dare you, you primitive ape."

Hawkeye shrugged.

"Sorry, but you speak like a doped pope on a carousel sometimes."

Charles shook his head and put on his typical expression of an offended monarch.

"Your lack of proper behaviour never ceases to amaze me."

"I'm doing my best, you know."

"I don't doubt that," Charles muttered. "Are you telling me you are not planning a night at Rosie's, now when your better half's on holiday?"

"Firstly – _I'm_ the better half," Hawkeye said, stretching and yawning, "and no, I'm actually going to bed. I feel like a hundred-year old corpse."

"You look like it, too. I just kindly ask you – try not to spread your bugs much around my bed."

Hawkeye grimaced at him.

"Trust me I wouldn't do that to my bugs, they're happy with me."

Charles laughed, shaking his head. Hawkeye wasn't exaggerating, though. He was afraid he'd caught the flu or something and he just hoped it hadn't been that bug knocking Father Mulcahy out last week.

Over the course of the day Hawkeye must have admitted it very much looked like it for he was feeling worse and worse and finally ended moaning in his bed, shivering with fever. He could hardly move, blowing his nose became more difficult than jumping over a five-foot high wall and the only thing he wished for at that moment was being unconscious. His whole body hurt like hell, his head was throbbing painfully and he heard his blood rushing in his temples. He felt like someone was boiling him in oil. He wouldn't dare to move so he just laid there like a plank with his eyes closed, pretending he wasn't there.

"What in the name of… Pierce!"

Hawkeye groaned from the blanket, squinting.

"Who disturbs my final hour?" he rasped.

"This place is a mess," Charles said, finally appearing in Hawkeye's focus.

"That's why we call it the Swamp," Hawkeye mumbled, rolling on his side and turning his back at him.

"You threw down my precious kettle. Do you have any idea how old it was?"

"No and that's frankly the last thing I'm interested in right now," Hawkeye retorted.

"Take your kettle and let me die."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh, damn you, Pierce," Charles said then, leaving. Hawkeye closed his eyes, falling back into his own private misery. If it weren't Charles, he would ask for a glass of water but even Hitler would probably be more generous and Hawkeye would rather swallow his own sweat than beg Charles for mercy.

The door to the Swamp opened again.

"Alright, alright, I'll fix the stupid kettle," Hawkeye said. "Even if that's the last thing I'll do. Which it most probably will be."

"Be silent, you ignoramus," Charles said and Hawkeye heard him moving some stuff around the Swamp. Curious, he managed to roll over. Charles was actually moving the furniture away so he could approach Hawkeye's cot.

"Here, take this," he said, giving him two pills and a glass of water.

"You know I'm a doctor, right?"

"Just do it, for god's sake," Charles said and Hawkeye had decided to go with the flow and obeyed. He felt Charles' hand on his forehead then and raised his eyebrow with surprise.

"It should go down," Charles said. "But you should change your clothes. And take your shoes off."

Hawkeye merely looked at him and Charles sighed.

"I don't believe it!" he said but started undoing the laces on Hawkeye's shoes.

"If you ever _ever_ mention this to anyone, Pierce, you're a dead man!"

"Um, let's store this for future blackmail, what do you say?"

"I say shut up," Charles said, taking his shoes off. He groaned.

"What's that smell?"

"Cheese," Hawkeye said. "I let it mature in my socks."

"I _would_ believe it, actually," Charles said. "Now I'm not undressing you, you'll do that after the pills take effect."

"How romantic," Hawkeye said.

"Alright, I'll take the jacket off but that's just it…"

Charles seized him by his shoulders and straightened him up.

"Wow," Hawkeye said, amused. "You're strong. You've been eating too much beans, I'm afraid."

"Will you be silent?" Charles said, unbuttoning the jacket and throwing it away. He pushed him back to the bed then and Hawkeye felt it was much easier to let him do whatever he wanted than resist. Charles approached him with a wet cloth, putting it on his forehead. He sat down to his chair then and watched him for a while before reaching for a book.

"Are you really going to keep an eye on me?" Hawkeye asked and Charles shook his head.

"No, I'm going to keep an eye on my book," he said. "But if you feel like dying, make a sound."

"But what about your civilized and fruitful evening?"

"Seems to me I'll rather be having a dim-witted and deadening evening, so please don't mention it."

Hawkeye laughed.

"You're incredible."

"Hush, Pierce, I'm trying to read," Charles said and then paused, a smirk crossing his lips.

"Or maybe you'd like to listen, huh? Shakespeare's sonatas would cure you in no time."

"I'll be a good boy," Hawkeye said quickly. "No need for torture."

"Now we are getting somewhere," Charles said, lowering his eyes back to the book. Hawkeye was looking at him for a few more minutes before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

When he woke up in the morning he felt considerably better. He realized Charles had taken the wet cloth off his forehead and evidently had given him B.J.'s blanket on top of his own. There was a glass of fresh water beside his bed. Charles himself was spread over his chair with the book open on his chest, both his arms hanging limply and his mouth open. Hawkeye smirked. Too bad he didn't have a camera.

"Charles?"  
Charles started, sending the book flying over the room.

"Pierce…" he said in a dangerous tone. "The reason I didn't sleep in my bed tonight."

"Oh, stop it," Hawkeye said, pretending to be abashed. He slowly got up and Charles gave him a thoughtful look.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, really. Much better. I think I would even have the courage to comb my hair."

"There are more important things you should do," Charles said. "Like having a shower."

Hawkeye smirked in amusement.

"I'll bring you something to eat," Charles said. "We'll see what our food does to you."

"Charles, wait," Hawkeye said as Charles got up.

"Thank you," he said with genuine gratitude. "I appreciate what you did."

Charles nodded.

"Don't mention it," he said and he wasn't joking this time. "Just remember – if I catch your bug I don't expect you returning the favour. Actually I don't expect you anywhere near me."

Hawkeye pointed a finger at him.

"Don't count on that, Charlie. I'll show you such care you'll beg to be sick more often. And you'll just love the reading from my favourite _Nude life of a nudist_."

Charles watched him.  
"You really are feeling better now when you're babbling your usual rubbish."

Hawkeye smiled.

"You bet I am."

* * *

 **Just a really short one, but I simply didn't get enough of Charles/Hawkeye friendship moments from the show :-) Hope you liked and let me know!**


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